


Lonely, No More

by hbomba



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Canon lesbians, F/F, First Time, Fridget, Lesbian, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 04, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-19 02:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17592572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hbomba/pseuds/hbomba
Summary: Exploring the origins of Franky/Bridget. A first time fic. Taking place between season three and the beginning of season four.





	Lonely, No More

The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion. -- Albert Camus  
__

People who are sensible about love are incapable of it. -- Douglas Yates  
__

“We’re done.”

She had said it first. Bridget Westfall had seen Franky at her worst in the hallway with Birdsworth and had called it off. Whatever “it” was. She had no clue what caused Franky to erupt, but Bridget couldn’t be a bystander to her anger any longer. 

If she were being real, it wasn’t about the display of anger or violence that had made her blurt it out, but Franky’s inability to live up to her potential was something that frustrated Bridget to no end. She spent their counseling sessions flirting with Bridget and lying or skirting the truth about most things, and being a forensic psychologist, Bridget saw through it all.

The thing she hadn’t counted on however, was Franky being able to see through her, too. She not-so-quietly doubted Bridget’s ability to resist her advances as she tested her boundaries, Franky was looking for a way in, even as Bridget was attempting to draw her out. But she lived a solitary existence, and her thoughts kept returning to Franky in her downtime. 

Bridget was surprised by her own unwillingness to deny the desire that grew in the pit of her stomach each time they met. She was a good psychologist, and her career up to that point in her life had been the most important thing in it. But Franky, with her big, sad puppy dog eyes and feral stare, stirred something deep inside Bridget.

Franky had a hard life. It would be difficult not to feel empathy for what she went through, and Bridget’s feelings were becoming harder to deny. She felt like a damn fool. It was the oldest story in the book, and yet, she swore it would never be her book.

But Franky Doyle had gotten into her head and her heart. What’s worse, she was convinced Franky felt something, too. She knew it was ridiculous. The probability of being played by a felon were astronomical, but try as she might, Bridget couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more genuine at work with Franky.

When it was decided that she would stop counseling Franky, she was broken by the look on Franky’s face--puffing out her cheeks in exasperation, those hound dog eyes indicting her with her gaze. 

“We’re done,” Franky said in anger, storming past Mr. Fletcher. 

She thought maybe Franky didn’t mean it, like Bridget hadn’t meant it, but she was just shooting in the dark. She had rejected Franky professionally and rebuffed her personally, and if she had to guess, it was probably a first for Franky. Pride bruised and pissed off (as usual), there was no telling what Franky Doyle might do. As the door shut, Bridget held her sides, the urge to cry ebbing was not for Franky, but herself.

Bridget had a feeling about the younger, wilder woman. And that feeling told her that Franky was a person who had never been given a chance, and she wanted to change that. She wanted to take her away from Wentworth and let her shine. She wanted to heal her mind and her heart, to tame her anger and stoke her passions. She wanted to listen to her stories and make new ones with her. And she hoped Franky would extinguish her loneliness. 

Her bed had been empty for a very long time, and it was no secret to Franky that Bridget was attracted to her. She had read her well. Franky was incredibly intuitive and she kept Bridget on her toes. When Franky asked if she wanted to fuck her, Bridget couldn’t answer. She knew if she said yes, Franky would have pursued her harder than ever before, maybe even right there in the middle of the kitchen, but she couldn’t lie and say no, either. Lying was against type for Bridget, and she couldn’t bruise Franky again.

Later, between the stacks in the law library with hushed voices and painful proximity, Franky touched her like a lover, and Bridget was done for. And when she let herself be sacked for it, Bridget knew that she was in over her head. Ferguson was an adversary hellbent on an agenda no one understood but her. Bridget tried to shake Wentworth off before throwing herself back into her work, but Franky, just by being Franky had changed something in her. She was hungry to right the wrongs of Wentworth. Suddenly, the prisoner’s experience was something more tangible to Bridget. 

She had fought for Franky and for the women and never intended to get anything out of it, other than satisfaction of a good day’s work. However, the day had arrived, and she knew it was selfish, but she had one more thing she needed to do. The gate opened. and the tattooed girl that haunted her dreams tentatively stepped outside. She walked slowly away from the building, gradually picking up speed. No doubt, feeling freedom acutely as she distanced herself from Wentworth. 

Honking the horn, Bridget leaned against her rental. She had been planning this moment since Franky told her how she wanted her time at Wentworth to end. She hadn’t burned the prison to ashes, but when Franky stood proudly before her, grin a mile wide, Bridget was glad she’d rented the car. Especially when they sped away into the afternoon sun. They drove, wind in their hair, Franky’s hand on her thigh, her eyes trained on the wide open spaces in wonder. 

Bridget smiled as she glanced over at Franky. “Where to?”

“Take me home, Gidget.” Her eyes sparkled with eye shadow and desire, and her Cheshire cat smile hinted at more than just mischief.

Their first kiss in the carpark was short and joyful, their next was hungry and impatient as they fumbled through Bridget’s front door, Franky backing her inside. Her mouth tasted of freedom and fire. Her leather jacket fell to the floor first, and each subsequent piece of clothing was discarded in a trail to her bed. Bridget would give her a tour later, but for now Franky climbed over her, pressing her into the soft mattress. She was surprised by how gentle Franky was, not because she had been inside for so long, but because they had both wanted this for so long.

She held Bridget’s face as they kissed, like she was holding something precious and rare. She was urgent and yet tender, and Bridget thought she might melt into a puddle. There was no mistaking that she knew her way around a woman’s body as Franky found a way to touch her like nobody had before.

When their bodies had quieted and breath had returned, Franky laced her fingers behind her head and grinned at the ceiling. “Shit, Gidge, you’ve got quite the place here.”

“Yeah, it’s good.” It was an obvious understatement. Bridget rested her head on Franky’s shoulder. 

“Can I stay?” Franky asked nervously, bravado suddenly absent.

She looked at Franky and bit her lip, nodding. “Yeah, of course.”

“Tonight, I mean,” she backtracked. 

“Yeah, whatever. Whatever you need.” Bridget kissed her. 

“What’s for dinner? I’m starved.” She sat up.

“I thought we could order in. What are you craving?”

“Is that a trick question?” Another impish grin.

Bridget laughed as Franky pulled her closer. She hummed. “If we don’t order dinner now…” She trailed off as Franky began to descend her body. “Frankyyy…” She reached for Franky, who diverted her hand by twining their fingers together and holding them against Bridget’s abdomen. When Franky’s mouth covered her, Bridget arched against her.

She took her time to please Bridget. It had been so long since someone had touched her tenderly that Bridget couldn’t help but to feel overwhelmed. Her breath was short, and she strained with effort as she felt her release near again. Objectivity had flown out the window long ago, but being with an ex-inmate, much less a patient, was uncharacteristic for Bridget. She was a professional. She toiled over the decision to pursue Franky, but she felt their connection in her gut. And when she came again, tears pricked Bridget’s eyes. She sniffed.

Bridget felt socked in the gut when Franky’s smile faded. “Ah, no. Are you okay?” Franky slid up the bed and peered into the darkness at Bridget’s glassy eyes. “Good cry, I hope.” She brushed a blonde curl from her temple.

Bridget smiled and nodded. “Yeah.” 

Franky lay across from her stuck in a state of wonderment. Bridget watched her expressions change as she processed her surroundings, her feelings, and her prospects. She was fascinated by the human spirit, and Franky was the personification of a free bird. She stroked Bridget’s arm.

“Inside it was like you’d get with a girl to forget or burn off excess energy.” She shook her head. “It was never like that, Gidget.”

Bridget smirked. “I can tell that troubles you.”

“Hell yeah, it does.”

“Why is that?”

“Are we having a session?” Frankie puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled.

“No, of course not. But if you want to talk about it…”

“Maybe I’m scared you’ll wake up tomorrow and tell me to get out.”

“Oh, honey…” Bridget closed her eyes and sighed at the ceiling before scooting closer to Franky. She stroked Franky’s cheek. “I don’t know what we’re doing here but what I feel is not something that is going to pass by morning.”

Franky expelled another breath she’d been holding. “Shit. This is really happening.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “It is.”

“I’m so fucking happy.” She laughed.

“Mmm…” Bridget stretched. “Me too.”

Franky wrapped her up with her long arms, and they stayed quietly together for a time. “What are we gonna do, Gidget?”

“About what?”

“Food, to start.”

Bridget laughed. “One track mind.”

“I was thinking satays, but I’m flexible.” Her grin was effusive, and Bridget’s cheeks hurt from smiling back.

“Anything. Anything you want.” 

“Anything?” That smile again.

Bridget watched as Franky pulled away, a splash of color as her tattooed arm slipped across the pristine white sheets. The moonlight shone on her body as she gathered her clothes from the floor. “Well, c’mon, let’s get up.”

She sat up holding the sheet to her breast. “If you insist.”

Bridget swung her legs over the side of the bed and watched Franky dress. She dressed quickly, carelessly even, and Bridget couldn’t look away. Jumping into her tight-fitting jeans, Franky caught her staring. Grinning, she took a few steps to stand in front of Bridget. 

She appraised the sheet. “That suits ya, too.” A whoosh of air signaled Bridget’s amusement. She dropped the sheet and stood in front of Franky, who paused, mouth open, before speaking again. “Now you’re just getting greedy.”

She threw her head back and laughed. Bared to the night’s air and Franky’s eyes, it was Bridget’s turn to feel free. “Can you blame me?”

“Nah. I’m quite the catch.” Franky padded off down the hall. “Where do ya keep the takeaway menus?”

“On the counter,” Bridget called after her, unable to stop the smile that crept on her face as she dressed. When she joined her in the kitchen, Franky was pouring over a number of menus, clearly unable to make up her mind. She put her chin on Franky’s shoulder. “What are we having then?”

Franky looked up from the smorgasbord of menus in front of her, with a frown. “I just wanna cook for ya.”

Her hands crept around Franky’s waist. “There’s always tomorrow.”

Franky laughed. “I keep thinking they’re gonna come take me back to my cell. This can’t be real. This isn’t my luck.”

“Maybe it has nothing to do with luck,” Bridget said as Franky turned in her arms.

“Trust me, Gidge, the only kind of luck I have is the bad kind.”

“Maybe your luck is changing.” They swayed together in the light of the kitchen.

Franky considered her for a moment. “I reckon something’s changed.”

She smiled. “I reckon you’re right.”

It was something to behold--Franky’s progress was marked, and Bridget had never seen someone benefit so much from her help. Of course, Bridget had also never had a relationship with an ex-patient, either. Seeing someone grow from counseling was gratifying under normal circumstances, but seeing someone she cared for coming around with their mental health felt like a selfish victory. 

Franky reached for the phone on the counter and, with her arms around Bridget, she dialed. Holding the phone to her ear, Franky waited for someone to answer. Bridget kissed her neck as she ordered a feast, and when she was through, Franky dropped the phone on the counter and kissed Bridget with gusto.

Bridget broke away from her lips, laughing. “Wine?” she asked, slipping out of Franky’s arm-span and leaning against the opposite counter. She uncorked a fine Shiraz and watched it glug into a pair of glasses. It was a heavy pour, but they were celebrating. Franky’s hands were on her hips when she turned, with an offering of wine. 

She took the glass from the blonde and brought it to her lips before taking a gulp indelicately. The look on her face told Bridget that it had been a lifetime or longer since Franky had sipped wine. 

“Mmm.” She nodded. “Yeah, that’s good.” Bridget smiled at her. “I mean, it’s got nothing on Boom’s grog, but some things are sacred.”

She laughed again. Bridget was doing that a lot. She couldn’t remember when the last time was that she had been able to let go and laugh at life, but she was truly happy with Franky. It had only been a few hours since Franky’s release, and Bridget was in trouble.

“So any big plans for tomorrow?”

“Let’s see… Get a job, a place to live, a car, maybe. Nothing major.”

“You’re going to do great.” Bridget would be Franky’s one-woman cheer squad if she needed, and even if she didn’t need it. She knew Franky could be successful on the outside, and it was more than vanity wanting to see her succeed. 

When dinner came, Franky’s eyes lit up. They spread the containers across the counter and ate cross-legged on the lounge. She watched Franky enjoy her food, eyes closed, face scrunched up in delight as she chewed. Everything old was new again, and Bridget felt it, too. 

When Franky was inside Wentworth, Bridget found her thoughts drifting to the younger woman as, in her work, Franky’s name would come up in passing with other prisoners. She saw Franky through their eyes first: fierce, strong, and loyal. Later, when Bridget met her, she was enraptured by her smarts and Franky’s intense emotions. She was incredibly complex and fragile with a ball-buster shell to protect her tender parts, and Bridget had learned to tread carefully. 

She exhaled. “So, Gidget, aren’t ya gonna ask about how I want the next chapter of my life to go?”

“Do you want me to ask?”

“Well, yeah.”

Bridget patted the younger woman’s knee thoughtfully. “What do you want for the next chapter of your life?”

“You.”

“Franky…”

“Nah. I mean it, Gidge.” Franky shook her head. “When I was at Wentworth, you are what got me through. Now that I’m out, I just wanna be with ya. And tomorrow I wanna wake up in your arms, find a job that I love, and live happily ever after.”

“If I were counseling you, I would say you shouldn’t pin all your hopes on another person.” 

Franky’s face fell and she hopped up, looking around like a trapped animal. Hands on her hips, tears in her eyes, Franky stood in the center of the room. “But the person I’m pinning my hopes on is you.”

“Shit.” Bridget exhaled. “Franky, it’s just that you’re doing so well. I don’t want to derail your progress.”

Her face scrunched as her pain was telegraphed to her expression. “And you think dumping me my first night on the outside is the right thing to do?”

“Franky--” She reached for her hand. “I’m not dumping you.”

“Well, it sure sounded like it,” she huffed.

Bridget smiled. “I’m not. Now will you please come sit with me?”

She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth and tried to casually rejoin Bridget. Plopping down beside Bridget, she sighed, leaning into her. “Gidge,” Franky hugged her knees to her chest, “I think I love ya.”

Bridget smiled. She knew the leap of faith Franky was taking to admit her feelings, and it certainly wasn’t lost on her. She felt it too. “I love you, too.”

Franky grinned, but her eyes remained sad. Bridget was unsure what was weighing her down, but she felt the duality in Franky’s mood acutely.

“Come on,” Bridget said, standing up and pulling Franky along with her. 

They walked down the hallway to her bedroom together, Bridget wrapped up from behind by Franky. In the bedroom, she quietly stripped to her underwear and tank top before climbing into the plush bed. Franky’s eyes were wide in the dark, silently watching her in the moonlight. She should have felt uncomfortable, even uneasy, but Bridget only felt Franky’s curiosity and unfamiliarity with her surroundings. She could imagine how the sound of her house creaking could be far less comforting to Franky than it was to herself, but she could never know for certain what was going through Franky’s head. However, she let herself be observed and could still feel Franky’s gaze as she drifted off. 

Tomorrow, Bridget would wake in Franky’s arms, strut through the gates of Wentworth, and lie about what she did the night before to Vera as she ate lunch, all the while wondering what Franky was up to. She’d call midday to check up on her, not because she thought she needed supervision, but because she couldn’t wait until she went home to see her again. And when the end of the day finally came, she’d go home to Franky who filled her house with music and food smells and her heart with affection. They’d dance in the kitchen, both more free than ever before, Franky reawakening something long ago lost within Bridget. And by the end of the week, Bridget wouldn’t be able to imagine her life before Franky. 

It had been a long time since Bridget had let herself open the door to her heart, but the bad girl with the smokey eye makeup had broken through. Bridget fell hard and fast, and for the first time in her life, all that was wrong was right again. And even though she had ten years on Franky, her life experience paled in comparison. She was successful professionally, and she had certainly seen her fair share of horrors in corrections, but Franky had lived them. For all the tumult, they were due for some peace, and together, they would face the next chapter of their lives.


End file.
